


Sansa's Song

by Walkinthegarden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Forbidden Love, Gen, House Lannister, House Stark, Murder, Princess Sansa, Protectiveness, Sansa-centric, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2245215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walkinthegarden/pseuds/Walkinthegarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The song is quiet and melancholy. It tells of a Northern Princess, beaten and humiliated, and how she took what was taken from her by throwing herself out a window. He sings how she regained her freedom in her last moments, though she left behind a man who will love her till the day he dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sansa's Song

I can still hear the song of metal against metal from my bedroom window. In all my life, that has not changed. From Winterfell to King’s Landing to Casterly Rock I have always heard the clash of swords out my window. Sometimes, when I sit at my vanity and close my eyes, I can pretend I am back at Winterfell and that it is Robb and Jon and Theon who wield the swords, but then I open my eyes and I hear the grunts of pain instead of the laughter and the memories fade away. I have long ago accepted that I am never going home.

Lord Tywin is dead, making my husband Lord of Casterly Rock and me it’s Lady. My husband said at Lord Tywin’s funeral that Casterly Rock’s Lady should reside there even if it’s Lord cannot (for some reason Joffrey has named my husband hand to the King). It was a stupid excuse to send me away from the Capital, but Lord Kevan agreed and convinced Cersei to allow me to leave. I am thankful to my husband for it.

Casterly Rock is far different from the Capital and while I like it well enough, I am still in the hands of Lannisters and I will never sleep well at night. Ser Kevan does most of what needs to be done while I sit mostly in my solar or the gardens. Sometimes, when I’m particularly bold, I go to visit the few Northern prisoners in the dungeons. The Lannister soldiers that guard me lay a carpet down for me to walk upon and set a small stool a short distance from the cell for me to sit upon.

The few in the cells that ever went to Winterfell remember me fondly, telling me that I was a jolly little girl, so courteous and sweet. I smile prettily at them and wish I could tell them that I am not that girl anymore. The others speak of my father and Robb, how strong they both were and how I am what Robb screamed for in the night.

“He’d spend many restless nights calling for your, My Lady. He’d call _Sansa, Sansa, Sansa_. You were the only family he knew for certain was still alive. Lady Catelyn believed Arya lost from the lack a word of her and with little Lords Bran and Rickon murdered by the turncloak, it was you he fought for,” they tell me.

_Jon,_ I want to tell them, _Jon is still alive_. But I do not tell them. I have illusioned privacy in the dungeons, but the Lannister guards listen to every word and I do not want to remind them of another brother they can torment me with. Not that they torment me, Tyrion made sure of it, but I am not willing to risk it.

“You are the Queen now, milady,” one of them says one day, “With your brothers gone and no heir, you are the last remaining Stark. You are the Queen of the North.”

The Lannister guards take me away after that, not letting me go back for fear that I am trying to start a second rebellion, as if I could with only ten men. I have nothing to do, so spend my days laying in the gardens, wasting away the days. There is no time to consider, nothing to keep me sane. I hear rumors that Arya is alive and North, to be married off to some Northern turncloak. I don’t believe them, anyone who knows Arya knows she would murder her husband and damn the consequences. War changes people, but Arya is dead, whether she’s alive and married or truly dead. Jon is my only family and he is too far to matter.

Today is different from the rest, my husband has been accused of killing Joffrey. Soon they’ll come for me, order me dead for my husband’s treason. They will call me evil. They will call me cursed. While Margaery can be twice married and never bedded, I am the traitor’s daughter and now a traitor's wife. Cersei will scream that it is for the good of the Realm, to see me die. I will not give her that satisfaction.

I smile to my guard and suddenly he knows. Three name days since my marriage and he has not left my side in that time. I think maybe he knows me better than anyone still alive.

“My Lady,” he begs me. He is seated at the opposite end of my chamber. His eyes glisten with unshed tears and there is true grief on his face. It pains me to see him this way, but it does not change my mind. I give him the softest of all my smiles, rising from my bed to approach him. It has been over two name days since I was modest around him. More nights than not, he sleeps in my chamber, though we have never bedded. I walk towards him, the silk of my night shift trailing behind me. When my legs brush his knees, I lean forward, brushing my fingers against the side of his face.

“Why do you protect me? Why do you love me when my brother’s men murdered your brother as he slept?” I ask him.

“I loved Willem, My Lady, but he is four name days gone and it was not you nor your brother that commanded his death. Your brother ordered his justice and saw it done with much cost to himself. I swore the day I was assigned your guard that I would repay him. In that time I have fallen in love with you. You are a better woman than any I have ever met. You are sweet and kind and so unbelievably beautiful. Lord Tyrion does not deserve you and you do not deserve him. You deserve none of what has been done to you. I know it is nothing, but I will die to keep you safe and I will spend my life trying to make you happy. I will do whatever you desire my Lady, but please… I beg you My Lady, please…”

“Shhh,” I whisper, cutting him off, “Martyn.” I press my lips to his, running my fingers lightly down his cheek.

“I adore you,” he whispers to me once we break apart, “we can run away.” I open my mouth to protest, but he quickly continues, “People die every day in Lannisport, surely one of them must have fire kissed hair. We can throw her body from the highest tower and no one will ever know. I am a third son and I will not be missed. I can be a blacksmith in the free cities and you can sew dresses for the wealthy. We can have a small cottage on the shore and be married and have children. We can have sons and name them Eddard and Robb and Brandon and we can have daughters named Catelyn and Arya and Lyanna. Please, my Lady, do not leave me.”

“I love you,” I whisper to him, sealing our lips together again.

****  
They find my body the next morning, smashed against the lawn of the courtyard. Some Singers sing that I died of grief at the death of my King and former betrothed, others sing that I threw myself from the tower at the news of my husband’s treason. They are all wrong. Only one song is true. With no trueborn grandchildren born to Tywin, Kevan’s only son living and not serving in holy order becomes the Lord of Casterly Rock. Martyn Lannister still grieves me when he marries his Dornish bride, and he still grieves me when he holds his first child in his arms, a boy of golden curls and emerald eyes. He names the boy Willem for the brother lost to him. As he hold the boy late in the night, long after his wife had gone to bed, he sings to his son. The song is quiet and melancholy. It tells of a Northern Princess, beaten and humiliated, and how she took what was taken from her by throwing herself out a window. He sings how she regained her freedom in her last moments, though she left behind a man who will love her till the day he dies.


End file.
